Lover Mine
by Astridhe
Summary: Stand-alone shorts. Most priestesses don't bother to ask, and Solaufein is used to that. Teasing and waiting? Less so. But when it comes to his priestess, it's worth it.
1. Lover Mine

It started with a look, a simple look. Solaufein had been watching her from the corner of his eye, seemingly the perfect Fey Branche soldier. He was Weapons Master now, a Matron's son and a proud noble. He thought he was being discreet as his eyes wandered over that slender form that wasn't nearly as familiar as he wished it was. And then he'd seen it: the slow curl of her lips up into a satisfied smile, a little gleam of amusement in her eyes. She'd caught him watching. He felt the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks and dropped his gaze in a properly submissive way. It probably didn't help his case that she was in the middle of discussing some affair or another with the Matron Mother. He took some solace in the fact that she didn't seem disinterested.

And she kept noticing. Every time they passed in the halls or even met and his eyes wandered, that smile returned. She knew. Once, she even said something when it was just the two of them alone, waiting for the Matron Mother. "See something you like?" she'd teased. That was something new in a female drow. There was no order to bed, just a sort of playfulness that took him by surprise. She seemed to enjoy being the shock to his system. And he never knew how to answer, so he stood there tongue-tied.

And she laughed at him.

It wasn't harsh like he expected, just a silvery sound of amusement that seemed reserved for him alone. And she found other ways to tease him as well, brushing past him in the halls with more contact than seemed absolutely necessary. It made his skin tingle and a pleasant shiver run down his spine. The problem was simple: he wanted her, and she wasn't doing anything about it except tormenting him. If she hadn't been a noble, hadn't been a priestess, he would have just used force to take what he wanted. That was the drow way. Then again, no one but a noble and a priestess would have dared baiting the Weapons Master.

Sometimes he wondered if she wanted him to try, if it was an elaborate trap. Certainly, she seemed to be spinning webs around him like no other priestess had quite managed to. But it wasn't confining. He always felt like he could run if he wanted to. The trick of the web was that it made him not want to run. It fascinated, even enchanted. And what a spider! The softly angled features of her House, intense eyes the color of stone, full lips, and the slender frame with a gymnast's muscles. More often than not he saw her in armor like a fighter, either headed to a battle or coming from one. But sometimes, like now, he caught her in robes with fabric clung to her breasts and hips. It was the first time he'd envied common cloth.

All his efforts were utterly in vain. The normal rules seemed entirely discarded when it came to his priestess—as he thought of her now even though he had no claim. His submissive looks gained him nothing and even declaring himself at her service had been met with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and that damned smile. She had to know that she was driving him insane, that she'd permeated even his dreams now. When another priestess would tug him to bed, he tried to pretend it was her if only to make the process more pleasant. It never worked with the way they demanded his attention, but it had been a good effort.

Part of him hoped it would be different with her. He would settle for less painful, anyway. Just for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine those long fingers running through his short hair and those lips against his own. "Solaufein." The voice cut through his reverie and he found himself looking at the Matron. He thought she'd been ignoring him.

"Yes, Matron Mother?" he said with the appropriate level of obedience, lowering his eyes again so that he didn't dare look at her. Out of all of Alaunraena's children, her eldest son was the most obedient. He hadn't stepped out of line since he was too young to know better. Fear of that dreaded snake-whip always kept him carefully observing her moods and tailoring every response to be as courteous and obliging as possible. It had taken him far in life, even to the post of Weapons Master.

"Escort our guest from House Duskryn to spare quarters. She'll be staying overnight."

He forced himself to swallow. It was as though the world enjoyed tormenting him. "Yes, Matron Mother." He turned, trying to keep his eyes fixed on the floor. "If you'll follow me, mistress?" He always called her by that rather than her name even though they'd known each other at the Academies. Priestesses preferred it in his experience, making them feel even more in control of him.

"Of course," his priestess said, following him casually.

Solaufein walked a little faster than was probably necessary, seeking to end his torment as quickly as possible. She walked so close to him that he swore he could feel the heat from her body. It was certainly close enough that he felt like he was going to spontaneously combust. He couldn't find it in him to say anything, still wondering if he was under the effects of a charm spell or if she was really a succubus. Demons and House Duskryn seemed to go together like salt and pepper. They moved through the corridors at a good speed until finally he reached the door and opened it for her silently.

She stepped through, then turned abruptly. "Solaufein," she said, curling a finger at him to indicate that he should follow. "I think no one will mind, don't you?"

He almost ran after her even though it put him at another's beck and call. He managed to slow himself down as if she didn't make all the blood in his body rush towards his groin, doing his best not to look overeager. Desperation was only attractive to a female when she had intentionally caused it. Which his priestess may have done, he realized. He froze when she turned. He hadn't expected it, so he'd gotten close. Close enough to make him feel like he was burning up when he realized there was maybe an inch separating him. And he knew the smile was back even without looking, equal parts satisfied and inviting. "No, mistress," he managed to get out as motion returned to his limbs, brain feeling somewhat behind the rest of him. There was what he wanted and what was allowed. He wasn't to move until she told him otherwise or released him to go back about his duties.

Her fingers traced along his jawline until they came to rest under his chin. Ever so gently, she tilted his face up until he was looking into her grey eyes. They seemed to have the power to hypnotize, like the gaze of a serpent or a powerful enchantress. The only danger he felt was from his own tenuous control. "What do you want, Solaufein?" she said. Something in the tone suggested that now was the time to spill everything out. It was certainly welcoming enough.

"You, mistress," he said. And wasn't that the truth.

"My name," she corrected with a subtle patience even as she looked at him with a definite expectation.

He was certain he was going to burn up. "You, Revered Llolfaen."

She laughed, that beautiful sound ringing softly in his ears. "I would have settled for Llolfaen," she said with that familiar amusement. Now she arched an eyebrow at him. "What do you propose to do about what you want, Weapons Master?" It was another tease with a hint of challenge to it.

"Mis—Revered Llolfaen?" Solaufein said questioningly. Surely she wasn't suggesting that he make the first move. That just...it didn't happen. It felt like his brain started to lock up while his body screamed at him to do something now, no matter what it was. But he couldn't move, spellbound.

She kissed him, lips soft against his even though the kiss sent fire running wild through his veins. Immediately, he ran his hands down her sides and let them come to rest on her hips. He more felt than heard her purr of approval at his hands on her. Apparently she was enjoying this almost as much as him, almost because he wasn't certain it was possible for anyone to enjoy themselves as much as he was enjoying himself right now. Her body was against him and he cursed mentally at his armor for getting in the way.

Not that it would be there much longer. Her fingers were dancing from clasp to clasp with the expert speed of a practiced hand. He was glad now that she wore armor so often. It made her exceedingly good at getting him out of his. "Bed," she said with a rough edge to her voice, pulling back to look at him. It amazed him how dark her eyes were now. He smiled so widely it ached even as he moved with her to the bed, letting her strip off his clothes as they moved.

His priestess. In bed. The world had suddenly become perfect. Part of him was still afraid that it would be terribly unpleasant, but most of him didn't care. He would take anything he could get.

And then she started to torture him. Not literally, but close. She was just moving so slowly, taking so much time, and with such a soft touch that he thought he was going to explode. He wanted to beg for her to go faster, but it came out as a keening sound from his throat that made her laugh again. "Hush, you can wait," she whispered against his ear. No one had ever been so careful or thorough with him. He couldn't imagine the amount of practice it had taken her to learn precisely where to touch and how. Even though they weren't familiar with each other's bodies, she seemed to know what would work on him.

There was something to it when she touched him, a sort of electric charge to every caress. He imagined it was probably the divine magic that always flowed through her veins, but some part of him naggingly insisted it was because it was _her_ touching him. That not even another favored soul would be able to get this kind of response—it had to be her. That was a little terrifying.

But it never hurt. He supposed he was a little rough with her just because he was excited, but she hardly seemed to mind. This seemed less like the vendetta of the average priestess and much more like some kind of game that she was clearly winning.

It nearly gave him a heart attack when he realized that he'd left love-bites on her neck accidentally. Thankfully, he found out that she actually liked them there, which was in and of itself strange. Priestesses weren't supposed to like anyone staking claim on them. There were even moments where he felt like he was in control, even though he was taking a gentle sort of direction from her. It was an entirely intoxicating.

He didn't know how his family would take this, but he did know that he wanted this for the rest of his life. The odds of him finding another priestess so considerate was zero to none. When things finally settled down, the sheets tangled all around their legs, he waited for her to send him away. Instead, she started tracing the lines of his muscles with one delicate finger. He wanted to ask if he had been good, but the words weren't working for him. His priestess certainly looked satisfied.

"Isn't touching so much better than looking?" she teased him softly, touching the tip of her nose to his. It was as much playful as gentle, a combination so foreign to him that it almost made him lose his train of thought.

"Yes," Solaufein agreed, letting his hands wander over smooth curves. Her eyes flickered closed for a moment in clear enjoyment. He chuckled, his confidence returning. For the first time, he didn't feel timid in the presence of a priestess. "I take it you approve?"

"Mmm," she hummed in agreement, brushing her fingers down his spine. He inhaled sharply, sensitive to the touch. "Though I could use another few rounds to make certain."

He smiled at that, hoping she was serious. It was strange that she hadn't ordered him away, but it was nice. He liked the roaming fingers across his chest and then through his hair. Her manicured nails just brushed across the surface of his skin rather than scratching him. "Revered Llolfaen..."

She tugged on his hair, though not hard. Just enough that he felt it. "No honorific," she ordered.

"Llolfaen," he said. But he wasn't sure how to ask. It was up to her if she kept him, after all. And with the fact that he was Weapons Master, it was highly unlikely that he would be allowed to be her consort unless something was negotiated at the Matron's level. Even then, there would always be the question of loyalty. So he would have to content himself with being a toy. That was hardly a bad thing as long as it was her. "Keep me?"

She tapped his lips gently with a finger. "Oh, we'll do this again, Weapons Master," she said with that same teasing tone even though he knew it was true.

That was good enough for him. Because this, whatever it was, was worth keeping. For one thing, it felt fantastic. He wasn't used to things feeling so pleasurable in general. His life was violence and that carried over into bed no matter whether he was taking or giving. "As you wish," he said contently.

"You sound so agreeable. It makes me want to suggest all kinds of things," his priestess said. That smile was back and he knew now that it suggested what exactly she was thinking about doing to him or with him. For once, he didn,t take that as an ominous sign. To his surprise, she brushed her fingers over the couple of marks on her neck.

"Sorry, mis—Llolfaen," he said contritely, a little worried now that he would be in trouble.

"Don't be. It will be nice to have a reminder of this," she said before looking over at him. "How long until you have to return to your duties?"

He'd never had a lover who worried about whether or not he would get in trouble with the Matron, and especially not one who gave a thought to his duties and his routines. It suggested that she thought of him a distinct person instead of just as a plaything. "It can wait," he said, settling down next to her. He was ready to stay for as long as she wanted.

Sometimes, it wasn't so bad to belong to someone else.


	2. I'll Take Care of You

Solaufein lay on the floor of his quarters and tried not to think or feel. Anything to blot out the pain of his back, torn to shreds by the priestess's snake whip. Not his priestess, but another that had decided to take him to bed and been infuriated by his refusal. Really, it had been idiotic to say no and he knew it, but he'd become bolder over the past few months. Not that it was any consolation to his tortured back and half of his face. He knew bone was visible, but the worst part was the venom. It burned in his veins and left him with a fever and quivering muscles. He heard the door open and muttered a curse against the stone. It was probably Nizana coming back to laugh at him.

Instead, he heard a rustle of fabric and someone knelt down next to him. He recognized the scent, soft and pleasant like a surface wind that always seemed to calm him down and bring him back to center. His priestess. If he hadn't been in so much pain, he would have said her name. Instead, he let out a hiss when he felt her shift him ever so slightly.

"Oh, Sol," she said. He wasn't certain if she was angry or unhappy or both. "Who did this to you?"

He groaned and then felt soft fingertips touch his hand. Healing energy flowed through him, flooding across his tortured back to slowly mend muscle and knit skin closed. There was so much damage, but she was an excellent healer even if that was not her general affinity. "Thank you," he managed to get out. It was painless. That had never happened before—normally the healing spells of priestesses left him in agony as punishment for being stupid or slow enough to be injured. Instead, there was just a pleasant feeling of warmth and a tingling through his back. He gingerly picked himself up when the healing had finished, swaying slightly.

His priestess was there to steady him, smoothing her hands across his bare back and tracing her fingertips along his spine. There was not a trace of scar tissue left and she surely knew that. All the same, she seemed intent upon making sure for herself. "What happened?" she said more softly. He knew the query for information couldn't really be counted as a request, but he didn't want to tell her. Not when it would throw her right into a power struggle with another priestess. Nizana Zolond was not a noble, but only barely. She was still the most influential matriarch in the House short of the Matron Mother herself.

Why did he think there would be any trouble between them? Maybe his priestess would find his insolence earlier just as aggravating. After all, a male did not say no to a priestess. Or maybe she would just laugh and take amusement at his pain. That didn't explain why she'd healed him, of course, but he was operating off of everything he'd experienced in the past.

"It's not important," he said, ready to sweep the whole incident firmly under the rug. He stopped before he could say more, stilling when she cupped his cheek with a hand and brushed her thumb over his lips.

"Solaufein, what happened?" she said more firmly. She did not look like she wanted to argue, and that meant he was going to lose. Immediately. This was one of the few situations he'd ever been in where he couldn't feign ignorance. His thoughts started to move quickly. How could he talk his way out of trouble? Was it worth it to lie? She wouldn't be happy if she found out, which was virtually inevitable. He stopped himself, fully aware of what he needed to do: tell the truth.

"I said no," he admitted, gaze immediately dropping. He didn't want to see anything in her eyes, and even more than that, knew the privilege would be revoked if he made her angry. Well, he assumed. He'd never managed to anger her sufficiently to reach that point, which was a blessing and something he aimed to keep that way.

"And who, exactly, tried to get you to bed?" she said. He could definitely hear a note of anger and the hand against his cheek stiffened abruptly. He didn't think she would hurt him very badly, but he wasn't exactly certain. After all, he'd had many a priestess vent on him and it had never been pleasant.

"Nizana Zolond," he said, tensing in expectation of a blow simply because of her tone. But instead, he heard her make a soft noise of anger even as her hand stroked his cheek. It was soothing. He found himself leaning into her hand a little bit, letting his eyes drift half-closed as he relaxed. After the healing, he felt better than he even had when he first woke up. It was late now and he knew that meant that she'd come in from some kind of patrol. Or perhaps not. There were times where she came to see him, exhausted and in pain, where she had never left the city. Something sometimes happened in the rites of Lloth that he didn't understand. Perhaps it had something to do with the darkness he occasionally saw moving behind her eyes. It had never frightened him, but it did worry him sometimes. Whatever it was set an invisible weight on her shoulders that he didn't always have the power to remove. But he could make her forget it for a while.

"It won't happen again," she said firmly, grey eyes studying his. They were familiar now, so much so that he could see the faint suggestions of stress and exhaustion around them that she'd tried to hide so well. She'd come to him for some reason even though she didn't seem particularly in the mood for the game they always played. For months now, he'd been her lover and every time seemed better than the last to him. He had no idea what his priestess was thinking so much of the time. She kept her world closed to him in many ways and he was grateful for that. It put him in the place where her secrets were not for him to know and that meant there was nothing for the Matron or his sisters to wring out of him. It protected him from all the things that troubled her. But when she was with him, she seemed to let other walls fall low. He thought of her mind as a gem with many facets, some hidden and others revealed by a soft light.

"Thank you, Revered Llolfaen," he said quietly, a wave of relief flooding over him. When his priestess promised something, she always delivered. And he was grateful that he wouldn't have to suffer under Nizana's hand again. How she would manage that, he didn't know. But his priestess was resourceful if nothing else and powerful as well. It was likely she could simply intimidate the cleric into staying away. Few were willing to pick a fight with a daughter of House Duskryn, if only for fear of a terrible wrath being visited upon them. Even Nizana would not cross that line in the sand. Not with his priestess.

Her delicate fingers ran down his chest, leaving a tingle in their wake. "You're mine," she said with that familiar, almost teasing smile. But there was something else in it today: concern. "No one else's."

He shuddered pleasantly at the touch. "Always, Revered Llolfaen. You seem tired."

She sighed. "And sore," she admitted. "Patrol was unpleasant." He noted she had stopped at least long enough to clean up and change before she came here. Did she care what he thought of her or did she just want to was all the dirt and discomfort from the wilds away?

"Let me take care of it?" he asked, gently drawing her into his arms until her body was pressed against his again. He never tired of feeling those curves. He had a plan that would keep his hands on her as well as taking some of the stress out. A massage rarely hurt anyone—and really, it was the dagger to the kidney doing the hurting, not the massage itself. She would have to trust him, but he'd been in her bed often enough to know that she did to some extent. The drow were supposedly promiscuous, and maybe were to some degree, but they were also very discriminating about their partners because anything could happen with armor and clothes off. That was why so many encounters ended with one party limping off and the other victorious. Even a female could occasionally run afoul of a less than obedient male, though she would never admit it. That never happened to nobles for fear of the reprisal, but in the lower echelons of the Houses and city itself, he knew it was an at least occasional problem. Sometimes a more powerful male wanted to vent after being a priestess's toy. He remembered feel that way not so long ago, but since he'd been with his priestess the feeling had faded away. He no longer felt used and thrown away.

"I'm not going to say no to that kind of offer," she said with a laugh, shedding clothes and lying down on his bed. She knew what he was planning and actually seemed secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't hurt her. Solaufein realized it was the first time she'd been in his rooms and smiled a little to himself. It almost made an even better picture to see her like this in his own bed. "You can tell me about this new sword and shield of yours that you mentioned before I left."

She always picked safe topics to talk about, things that wouldn't get him in trouble with the Matron for revealing them. Sometimes he slipped up and said something that might have been protected information from his position as Weapons Master, but she never said anything about it as far as he could tell. His priestess tended to hold onto secrets, both her own and other people's. It was an advantageous trait, because then she could always bring them out when she needed the upper hand. But he wasn't really worried about being left in that position, no matter how foolish that was.

He was more than happy to fill her in about the metals and techniques that went into forging his new armaments. He knew that she probably didn't actually care about the details but just wanted to hear the sound of his voice. He didn't understand why it reassured her, but he supposed he felt the same when she spoke to him. It was as enrapturing as any enchantment. As his hands started to work on her back, he found dozens of knots in the muscles there. His priestess must have been in serious pain. He heard her hiss a little as he rubbed them out methodically, but she didn't snap at him or complain. "I've seen fewer knots in a whole rug," he said ruefully. "What happened?"

"Derro," she said, shifting a little. He knew that the pain would fade now that her muscles were relaxing. Before he really realized what was happening, she had rolled over and he was being pulled gently into her arms. When he lay down with her and pressed a kiss to her temple, he heard his priestess sigh contently. "I've waited all week for this."

"Mmm," he hummed in agreement, more than willing to admit that he felt the same. She was too tired to do anything more than hold him and be held right now, which was fine with him too. He could wait. He would always wait if it meant that reward at the end. He pulled the covers over them and relaxed at the gentle, featherlight touch down his back as she lay with her forehead touching his.

As her finger smoothed patterns over his skin, he saw a little flicker of something in her eyes and a faint tightening of her jaw. "I should have been here to protect you," she said quietly.

Solaufein felt something warm in his chest at that. No one had ever wanted to shield him from pain or suffering before. He shifted and pulled her close so she was laying half on his chest with her head tucked under his chin. She couldn't touch his back now, so she sketched patterns gently on his pectoral muscles. "You were here to heal me," he pointed out softly. "That's all I could have asked for. Nizana got nothing she wanted."

"Brave of you," his priestess said. She let her hand lay flat over his heart as if it reassure herself that it was still beating. "Stupid, but brave."

"Oh, I know. But why give her the satisfaction?" he said, comfortable in their current positioning. He covered her hand with his own. "You have me now."

Her hand curled into a fist and he heard her pull in a deep breath, but then she exhaled slowly as if calming herself back down. "You're right," she said quietly. "Nizana can wait until tomorrow."

He felt his priestess press a kiss to his collarbone, then another next to it, then another. They seemed more for reassurance than like she was planning on starting something. They both knew she was much too tired for that. Divine magic warmed his skin, seeping out of her fingertips where she brushed against him. He heard and felt her sigh, his arm wrapped around her. "I should go. I didn't mean to intrude on your day off."

"I am glad you did," he said. When he felt her shift to get up, he added, "You can always sleep here."

She nodded against his chest. After twenty minutes or so of murmuring back and forth between them, her breathing began to slow and even out until finally he could feel that she was asleep. In her sleep she stayed curled around him, her hand still resting over his heart.

Now that she was no longer awake to laugh at his sentiment, he had courage enough to stroke her hair gently. She always seemed more fragile when all the masks she wore for the world were abandoned in favor of slumber. He let his hand shift downward, fingertips tracing the edge of her ear and then her jaw. He could still remember the first time that they'd kissed vividly. How long had it been? Two years now, or at least something very close. It wasn't every day that he saw her, but it was often enough that word had made its way around. Nizana's demand of him had been as much a power play as attraction, if not more so. It would have been a serious insult, had it been successful. But instead people were likely going to hear that she'd been refused by the Weapons Master. It was hard to keep anything a secret in a world so invested in ferreting them out. He didn't really care, no matter what awkwardness it caused between the Matron and Nizana. Not when he was here, his arms around his priestess.

Did she know that she held his whole world in the palm of her hand? Solaufein wasn't certain what love was. He'd heard the stories from human traders and the slaves around the House complex. At first he'd laughed, but now? He understood the appeal of holding tight someone who meant so much. And if this wasn't love, it would do.

She stirred in her sleep a little, lips moving. He heard her make a soft noise that sounded like a note of fear. Without even thinking, he smoothed a hand over her hair. "I'll protect you," he murmured. If she had been awake, she might have protested at the notion that she even needed protection. Particularly from a male. But right now, those words seemed to reach her in her dream and she stilled. His priestess was always plagued by nightmares no matter how tired she was when her head hit the pillow. She had mentioned once, offhandedly, that they were less vivid when he was around. He wasn't certain what to think about it. But at this moment, it worked to his advantage. He didn't want to see her suffer in her dreams any more than he wanted to see her suffer in the waking world.

Now that she was at peace, he gently drifted off to sleep.


	3. Cruelty of Circumstance

Solaufein pushed deeper when he felt her leg lock around his own. Moans of encouragement drove him on along with his own determination. "Don't stop, Sol," she said and it sounded like a prayer, albeit a breathy and unsteady one. "Goddess! Yes...just like that..." And he obediently obliged because there was nothing in the world he liked more than his priestess falling apart in his arms. He heard his name on her lips, soft against his ear as he breathlessly brought her to that height. And when she peaked, so did he. That had never happened to him with any other woman, not just the priestesses who decided he would be a good toy. He tightened his arms around her as their bodies stilled, waiting a moment before easing out with a deep regret. After being so close, he never wanted to stop. But unfortunately his body required time to regain its vigor and she had no objections to waiting.

She laughed lightly, grey eyes alight when she looked up at him and lips curved into a very satisfied smile. "You follow instructions wonderfully," she murmured, tone teasing. As she shifted, she winced a little.

He almost froze. "Did I hurt you?" he asked her quickly. Granted, it would have been at her insistence, but priestesses could still be enraged about that.

His priestess laughed again. "No, Sol. But maybe next time we should make it to a bed."

It hadn't been his intention to practically jump her as soon as she walked in the door, but here they were on the stone floor among the clothes strewn around and that wasn't even taking into consideration the round against the wall. He'd almost ripped her clothes, or at least most of them. There were probably a few little tears that would need repairing, but she'd done anything except protest. "Sorry," he said quickly. Before he could continue his apology, he was halted just by the look in her eyes. That dark heat of want remained strong.

"Shut up and kiss me," she murmured, linking her arms around his neck to pull him down into a kiss that scorched part of his soul. He wasn't certain how she'd left such a mark, but it was an ever-present one. Sometimes he knew priestesses liked to carve marks in their males, consorts or not, as proof of conquest. Somehow his priestess had managed to do it invisibly and he'd enjoyed every moment of it.

When they broke apart, Solaufein regretfully picked himself up and helped her up off the floor. She didn't refuse, gracefully accepting his assistance...probably because her legs were a little weak still. He was proud of himself there. With the effect she had on him, it was gratifying to see she derived equal pleasure from it. It was not a normal response, as his nature usually demanded that he get the most out of things where he could, a sort of selfish survivalism, whether or not his partner enjoyed it being inconsequential. Generally, they were someone operating on the same principle. If that was how his priestess thought of things, she did a very good job of hiding it.

She made an approving noise as she sank down onto his bed. Sol did the same. He had to admit, this was much more comfortable than the floor or the wall. But need had replaced everything else earlier. After being the toy of others, he was always desperate for her touch. It convinced him that there could be sex without pain. "I didn't realize you were going to be here," he said. It was a strange hour for her visit. Normally she came to see him in the evenings, not the mornings. House business tended to take up more of her time than he might have preferred.

"I had to ask Alaunraena a favor, and the best time to catch her is before she's sour and bogged down," his priestess said casually.

Solaufein was surprised. His priestess never asked anyone for a favor. She compelled them to do things because they owed her. It was out of character and that worried him. Was something wrong at House Duskryn? He found her hand and brought it to his lips for a soft kiss. "And what was this favor about?"

The grey eyes that regarded him, so playful a moment ago, were now somber. "You."

Hope was blooming to life in his chest despite the fact that he knew it was foolish. It could have been one in a thousand other things. "Are you going to elaborate?" he asked.

"I was not certain if you would even want to know of it, considering she refused me," his priestess said. He knew by the way her hand began stroking his back that she had seen his mood plummet. "But perhaps knowing of the effort would ease some of this. I asked her for permission to make you my consort."

He was floored despite himself. He'd never thought she would actually do it, not after so long passing with no indication from her that she might even consider staking a solid claim on him. It might not save him from the predations of all priestesses, but it would certainly terrify the majority off. Llolfaen Duskryn was not a woman to be trifled with. Her connection to the Spider Queen was supposedly unrivaled and she was a noble from an influential House. "Why did she refuse?"

"From what I gleaned, she has other plans for you," his priestess said. Her tone was even, but he could see a grimness to her expression. She knew more than she was saying. Instead of revealing her thoughts, she sighed and touched his face. "If I had been swifter to act, if I were more powerful, if I had more status, she would not have dared refuse me." Her lips brushed his lightly before she finished with, "Give me more time, and I will have everything you deserve."

It was a declaration that took his breath away, drawing his thoughts away from any schemes his mother might have designed in her twisted mind. "I should be the one proving myself to you," he pointed out quietly.

"I am proving myself _for_ you," his priestess said. He felt her fingers move from his face back to his side. She followed the lines of muscles, a ghost of a touch as she studied him thoughtfully. "I always get what I want, no matter how hard the work to achieve it."

"And you want me?" Solaufein said. He didn't feel like...enough, not to warrant this kind of attention. Yes, he was Weapons Master and a noble, but he was not so famous a blade or stunning a commander. He wasn't particularly handsome or ugly. Just average. At least for a noble.

Her eyes were hooded now, a touch of a smile twitching her lips up at the corners. "I believe I do," she purred suggestively. He knew what she was doing—his priestess was never one to keep her declarations serious. And he understood. If she made it a joke or an innuendo, it was that much less terrifying than admitting to a real feeling, but she could still say what she felt. He was tempted at times to do the same, but he lacked the joking nature to make it anything other than awkward. And there was another way for her to keep him from probing too deeply at her defenses: her hand drifted lower and he gasped as fingertips just barely touched highly sensitive flesh. All the blood in his body seemed to rush towards his groin.

"One more question," he groaned out, trying to focus.

"Fine," she huffed playfully, removing her hand. He immediately wanted to ask for it back, but it was important that he asked this.

"After all this time, why ask for me to be your consort now?" Solaufein asked. He saw something unreadable flash in those grey eyes, still dark with her desire.

She sighed and he could almost feel her calming herself down. The less she wanted to talk about it, the more eager she was to lose herself in distraction. If her response to him earlier and this now had been any indication, she really didn't want to talk about it. "Because I thought I could protect you this way," she said very softly, looking down and away from him. He wished she wouldn't do that. It reminded him of how he was forced to keep his eyes lowered around the Matrons and priestesses. He never wanted her to feel so small.

"Protect me from what?"

She arched an eyebrow at him in that Duskryn way. It made him want to kiss her senseless. "You said only one question," she pointed out even though the mood between them had changed. The fire had been dampened a bit.

"Llolfaen, please," he pleaded, knowing it was important.

She sat up and turned a little, putting her back to him. It was not good news when she didn't want to look into his eyes. His priestess felt responsible. "There's going to be an alliance between House Fey Branche and House Baenre. Alaunraena is going to give you to Myrineyl Baenre as a show of...let's call it good faith," she said bitterly. "I had no intention of leaving you at her mercies. But the politics of Menzoberranzan care nothing for the desires of the weak."

Solaufein felt a chill settle into his bones at the mention of his future, but he did not show it. It was more important now to offer comfort whether it would be taken or not. He sat up, slipping his arms around her tense body and pressing a kiss to the top of her shoulder. "You are not weak," he said quietly. "You graduated well from Arach-Tinilith. You have led more successful raids beneath and upon the surface than Myrineyl Baenre ever will. You are the scion of a powerful house."

"And someday I will kill her," his priestess said, her voice quiet. "I will not leave you to suffer a lifetime at her hand. I know her. She will torture you to wound my pride and stoke my hatred because she believes I will then do something foolish."

"Maybe," he said. "But that does not mean this has to come to an end. What is one more secret in a life of them?"

She turned to face him quickly, grey eyes looking at him with something between concern, gratitude, and anger. "You will get yourself killed," she said. "Do you think Myrineyl will permit that kind of insult?"

"You said yourself that she would torture me. That means she won't kill me," Solaufein said, finding her hand with his own. Her skin felt so soft against his own. "If I was still able to see you, every moment would be worth it."

For a moment, he could see that his priestess was didn't know what to say. In all their time together, he had never seen her at a loss for words and short a tease. Finally, she leaned in and kissed him almost chastely. "That is a choice I leave to you to make," she breathed out. "I will never force you."

When Llolfaen Duskryn promised something, she meant it. Solaufein felt like he was going to pass out. A priestess had just allowed him the power to choose at one of the most important moments in his life. "I want you," he said, meeting her eyes so she would know that he meant more than just her body. She struggled to keep her eyes on his, but she didn't break his gaze. It was as though the action overwhelmed her.

She smiled a little. He could see the light almost blaze in her eyes. "Then I suppose I had better take you," she teased him softly before drawing him into a kiss, this one much deeper than the last and considerably less patient. He could feel desire sparking back to life between them now that their future was decided. It would not be an easy or a safe one, but it was what it was.

* * *

"You should be happy, brother. This is a chance to become Patron of House Baenre," Dhauntar said cheerfully, dropping into a chair across from Solaufein who was laying on the couch, trying to pretend that his whole body didn't ache painfully. Myrineyl had been incredibly thorough in her abuse. No matter how much he tried to leave his body and get lost within thoughts and memories of his priestess, she had found a new and painful way to drag him into the present rather than the fond past or hopeful future. It had made his performance unsatisfying and that absolutely couldn't be allowed to go unpunished. Not when Myrineyl was concerned.

"You try Myrineyl's charms and see how happy you are," Solaufein snarled. He eased himself up, trying to ignore the pains in his body. "Besides, vermin, this change only means you became Weapons Master, a title you did nothing to earn."

"And it means Revered Llolfaen's attentions are free," Dhauntar said with a grin, knowing his brother was in no position to do anything about it. Even though it was highly discouraged, the older male seemed very not only attached to but possessive of the priestess. "There's room there for many a male to move up. She still needs a consort."

"If you even try, I will kill you," Solaufein said evenly as the heat of anger poured through his veins. The idea of his brother even speaking to his priestess infuriated him, let alone the idea of him touching her in any way. He could certainly see Dhauntar trying. It was a way to get through Sol's armor for a good, solid stab. The former Weapons Master was fairly certain Llolfaen would shut his brother down so quickly that even lightning would be blindsided, but there was always that niggling little doubt that someday his priestess would realize how little he had to offer her or she would get bored with him. It wasn't beyond the bounds of possibility.

"You're not her consort. You're Myrineyl's," Dhauntar pointed out. He sprang up. "Now I'm going to go enjoy being Weapons Master while you sit here and lick your wounds."

Solaufein glared daggers at his brother, but said nothing as the younger male sauntered off. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off into memories of Llolfaen. Her hands on his skin and her lips working their way along his jawline. It was a far, far more pleasant reverie than any other he could think of. Even just her fingers working the tension out of his muscles drew him out of his memories of Myrineyl Baenre's cruelty. Part of him was bitter that he had been thrown to her just for the Matron's personal gain, but he understood how the game was played.

He didn't want to be Patron. It was the first time in a long time he might have said something like that, actively giving up the idea of power. He wanted to wake up every morning in his priestess's arms and to go to bed every night with her body pressed against his. This new world he was trying to adjust to with Myrineyl was not what he had hoped for his future. It was a cold and empty thing. And yet, even in it there was a brightness from his priestess. They would see each other. Things would work. His present situation would not be his fate for the rest of his life, if she were to be believed. Normally, he might have taken a more fatalistic view of his situation, but for her he would soldier on and dare to hope. It would drive Myrineyl insane. She seemed so eager to break him and force him back into the mold of blind compliance that he had broken away from.

"Solaufein." It was Myrineyl. He might have flinched were it not for the stiffness in his muscles that prevented him from making any such sudden movements. The bite marks in his shoulder stung and the scratches down his back burned. Being with her was not a pleasant memory. It left him feeling dirty and somehow used.

"Mistress," he said with a coolness he could not conceal, rising to his feet despite the aches in his body. He bowed his head before he could even look at her, fixing his eyes on the floor.

She caught him by his chin and tilted his head up so that he had no place to look except for her crimson eyes. It only made him long for familiar grey eyes that much more. "You will make earlier up to me," she said in a purr.

"I do not think I can," he admitted without as much reluctance as he probably should have had. Myrineyl was not an unattractive woman, though her cruelty outweighed her beauty in his eyes. His body was simply too damaged from her displeasure already. At least, too damaged for the roughness of an encounter with Myrineyl. Not that she would care enough to hold off for that reason. He stayed still when she moved close to him, close enough for him to inhale the scent of incense from the temple on her hair. So that was where she had been. A pity it had not kept her longer. He missed the smell of earthy sweetness, like a surface breeze, that clung to his priestess.

"But you will," she said, just a touch of threat to her tone. It did not have to be a great deal to make him fear for his wellbeing and even his life with her. Myrineyl was not a forgiving woman, as he now knew personally. She kissed him without any of the gentle teasing he had come to expect. This was harsh and demanding, like everything with the noble of House Baenre. He knew his body would respond automatically eventually, but it would be a mechanical thing rather than something born of any true passion or intimacy. His legs hit the couch and he sat down hard with Myrineyl landing in his lap. It sent a shockwave up his spine that was not pleasant at all, but instead a frisson of pain that reminded him all too clearly that he had been punished. He forced himself to act interested, to pretend as though he actively desired her. It was more than he had done earlier. Guilt had stopped him then. But this was about survival and avoiding pain. He had to stifle a groan of pain and felt her fingernails dig into the back of his neck. She was enjoying his resistance...and his suffering,

"Revered Myrineyl," a very familiar voice said, cutting right through the blur of pain. He immediately broke away from Myrineyl's lips and turned his head towards his priestess, earning himself a glare from the Baenre noble. It was hard to read his priestess's face. It looked on the surface like a sort of indifferent impatience, her lips thin and her eyes hard like slate, but he could also read anger. It was a helpless rage at the woman inflicting pain on him, so well hidden that it was barely perceptible. He knew it only because he had become attuned to her many moods.

There was something catlike to Myrineyl's broad smile. Certainly, she found a certain joy in prodding at Llolfaen Duskryn, hunting for a weakness in the favored soul's armor. They were not by any stretch of the imagination on friendly terms. His priestess was too danerous to simply be brushed aside as so many were by Myrineyl and House Duskryn was viewed with a certain distaste by the first House. "I'm busy, Llolfaen. Unless you want to watch?"

"It's the Matron Mothers who want you, not me," his priestess said with only the faintest curl of her lip.

That earned a growl of displeasure from the cleric currently in his lap. "What does she want?" Myrineyl said irritably, standing up.

"Do I look like a Matron?" Llolfaen said, her voice clipped and precise in that way that meant her temper was wearing thin. "Siniira expects you in her presence as quickly as possible. If I had to guess, I would wager it has something to do with why shipments of weapons from Rilauven destined for the soldiers protecting the city are disappearing from under House Baenre's nose, considering Matron Mother Quenthel is with her."

Myrineyl's expression of satisfaction vanished with an astonishing alacrity only to be replaced by a fury. "Fine," she snarled, heading for the door. Solaufein rose and followed, knowing it was expected. He was grateful that his priestess had managed to rescue him, whatever her reasons. She followed after Myrineyl as well through the halls of House Fey-Branche and down the avenues towards House Duskryn, which was not all that far away. The streets of Qu'ellarz'orl were as busy as they ever were, the traffic of all the servants needed to maintain the lifestyle of the city's rich and powerful moving along without paying them any heed other than to get out of their way. Nobles were not hard to spot and every slave or servant knew never to touch them or stand in their way. The lights and decorations of faerie fire on shops lit the street below as they wound their way through.

As they finished their journey in the halls of House Duskryn's compound, when his priestess was certain that no one was looking, her hand brushed against his and he felt their fingers interlace for a moment in a soft squeeze. Then the contact was gone, but the warmth it left remained. His heart felt as though it had swelled.

He and his priestess were left to wait outside of the audience hall while Myrineyl went in for what would inevitably be a tongue lashing, as this had apparently been blamed on her. Solaufein took some satisfaction in the idea even though he knew it would put the Baenre noble in a foul mood. Technically, he was part of that House as well now, but he barely felt like it. There had been no welcome into the family, though he had the sympathy of Andzrel Baenre. The Weapon Master's advice had been to find some female of a lower station to vent on, willing or not. It was not something that appealed to Solaufein. He knew where he wanted to be.

Sol turned to his priestess, who was studying him with pensive grey eyes, "She's been mistreating you," the favored soul said, "Let me heal you?"

"If you do, she'll just reapply the wounds," Solaufein said in gentle refusal. It was honest, if not the most comforting thing in the world.

His priestess kissed him gently, lips soft and yielding against his. He felt a sudden sense of desperation and deepened the kiss as his arms wrapped around her waist. How long would it be until he could see her again? Weeks, months? She seemed to feel it too, at least until they parted to breathe, "We're going to get caught, Sol," she said, in a cautioning tone as she looked up and down the hallway. "I don't want to find out what she would do to you then."

"Then give me a time to meet," he said, struck by a sort of bravery born from fear. "A place, a date, something."

She studied him for a long moment. "You go out on patrol in a week, don't you?"

He was surprised. "You know House Baenre's duty rosters?"

His priestess shrugged a little bit. "When it concerns you," she said, evading his eyes.

Solaufein smiled faintly. "Well, your sources are accurate."

"Can you get into Melee-Magthere when you arrive back? A House Captain should be able to, if only to scout potential talent. Find me there," she said softly, reluctantly disentangling herself. "I have people who owe me substantial favors there who can make certain that Myrineyl doesn't find out."

"I can get in without a problem," he assured her. Sol studied her curiously. "Why not here? Your family controls everything that moves in and out of this House, including information."

"Which is the problem. My family is also comprised of Zesstra, who would love to see Myrineyl get a shot in at me," his priestess said. She touched his face gently. "I'll find or make a safe space here for us, but that will take time and favors. For now, Melee-Magthere is what is available to us."

Solaufein nodded in understanding. He would take anything she was prepared to give. He caught the sound of approaching footsteps and kissed her quickly. "Until then," he told his priestess, schooling his features into neutrality for when Myrineyl emerged.


	4. Hazy

Ten letters. That was how many she had sent, every single one saying that she had something important to tell him, something that couldn't be written down. He had burned each one for fear of Myrineyl's prying eyes and the consequences of being discovered. They parted more than a month ago and he had not seen her since. Myrineyl had kept the leash tight and he found himself suffering the company of House Baenre's heir more and more often. But now he was free and would be for some time. Myrineyl had someone else to amuse herself with and Solaufein wasn't about to start feeling jealousy. He was relieved.

He made his way through a siege tunnel into House Duskryn, passing through the magical defenses with only a small amount of trepidation. Over the course of the past few years since this arrangement with his priestess began, she had set to work on modifying the ancient defenses that turned this tunnel into a death-trap or escape route depending on who used it during a time of war. The end result was that he could pass through it without being noticed, allowing him a valuable back door into the depths of the compound. From there it was easy to make his way to her quarters without crossing Zesstra's path—the two were on opposite sides of the House's living quarters. He padded there now, boots surprisingly silent on the stone floor. Everyone else was asleep, but he knew his priestess would be awake. After all, he had finally sent word that he could meet her. Her confirmation had been written in an unsteady hand. He couldn't say if she was fearful or excited. Something was happening and in a way that didn't sit well with him. What if something had gone wrong? It was a dangerous game that they were playing.

Sol slipped in. His priestess was standing in front of the enchanted mirror that served as her window out onto the city—and occasionally a scrying glass—with her back to him. At the moment, the mirror was displaying the dark gem that was Menzoberranzan. The fighter felt a weight lift off his shoulders and he moved over to her when she didn't turn around, slipping his arms around her waist. He drew in a sharp hiss of breath when he found an unfamiliar curve to her belly. Was she...? He froze, thoughts whirling so fast he couldn't even begin to make sense of them.

Delicate hands covered his, holding them to her abdomen. "This is what I wanted to tell you," his priestess said softly. He was about to feel betrayed when she leaned back into him. "Sol, she's ours."

_She. Ours_. The shock that hit him like a lightning bolt was a warm one. Something in the center of his chest started to expand. "Are you certain?" he asked before mentally kicking himself. It was never wise to express doubt about something like that to a priestess.

However, she didn't seem angry. She laughed instead. "Of course I am, Sol. My bed remains empty when you are gone," she said.

"And it's a girl?" he said. He was awestruck. Sol had destroyed many things in his life and killed many people. He had never created anything...until now. In a distant way, he had known he would be a father someday, but he had expected it with Myrineyl and steeled himself against the inevitable pain that would be being separated from them. He had known that his children would be trained in cruelty by the time he was allowed near them. This was different. His priestess was different. The knowledge brought an unfamiliar lump of relief and unbridled happiness into his throat.

"Yes," she said, her thumb stroking patterns across the back of one of his hands. The other of his hands was rubbing small circles across her abdomen now as he grew warmer and warmer towards the idea.

Sol chuckled suddenly, more in happiness than in humor. It turned into a full laugh as he spun her around and swept her up into his arms. Her arms linked around his neck and he leaned his forehead in to rest against hers. He grinned, his joy reflected in that soft, secret smile of hers. It was hard for him to figure out what to do or what to say. Happiness was not an emotion native to him, not after the careful conditioning of the Matron. None of it mattered, however, the moment his priestess kissed him. It sent a shiver of heat through his body. "She needs a name," he murmured when he pulled back, as tempting as it was to lose himself in a haze of passion. Usually it was decided upon at birth, but most priestesses knew what they wanted it to be long before then.

"Mhmm," his priestess hummed, her grey eyes bright. There was a glow to her expression that he had never seen before even in her. He could only hope that she was as deliriously happy as he was. "And I want you to choose it."

Solaufein knew he should have been expecting it, but the reply floored him so much he almost lost his balance. He set her down gently just in case he remained as unstable. "Me?"

"I'm sorry, was I looking at someone else?" she teased, combing her fingers through his hair and then running them down the back of his neck in a way that made him tremble pleasantly. "I can repeat myself if you like."

He laughed, holding her close and resting his cheek against her temple. The familiar smell of summer breezes that lingered in her hair made him feel light, as if he was barely clinging to the ground. "Give me a minute to think," he said. The more he thought, the more he knew what the answer would be. There was only one other woman in his life that he really admired, a mentor of his who had fallen in battle some years ago. She had been everything an older sister should have been. "Would...Nathrae...be acceptable?"

"Sol, we can call her anything you like," his priestess said, looking amused.

He had never felt more grateful to her than in that moment. It meant far more to him than she would probably ever know. The male drow kissed his lover as if the world was about to end. He was holding in his arms everything that would ever matter to him, as far as he was concerned. If he could have this, he didn't care about Myrineyl or being Patron or even surviving. "Do I get to see her?" he asked when they pulled apart, hesitant despite the fact that he trusted her. She might have agreed with the general idea among nobles that it wasn't his place to shape a child.

"Every day, if you want," she said indulgently, looking somewhat pleased with the idea herself. He felt a wave of relief and that same, ever-growing sense of joy. The whole world was suddenly perfectly right.

He knew that it would really be dependent on Myrineyl's whims, but he didn't really care because he knew that he could always defy those if he had cause to. The punishment would be well worth it. He drew his priestess over to the bed and kicked off his boots, lying down with her on the soft spider-silk sheets. She settled into the circle of his arms and let out a content sigh as his hands continued running over her abdomen. He was turning that curve into something as familiar as it was welcome. "I will be there," he promised both to her and their unborn child.

There was a tenderness to the way she covered his hands with her own again that spoke of something deep and abiding between them. The world around them seemed hazy to him, but that touch was crystal clear in its myriad of details. His priestess was smiling contently, her head tucked under his chin. Things had never been more perfect.

He was going to have a daughter. Solaufein couldn't wait to hold his little girl in his arms. He had never thought of himself as good with children, but he wanted to try. Part of him was terrified that he wouldn't be good enough, but it was drowned out by the sheer volume of his happiness. He was going to have a daughter. He would be able to see her. His priestess would move the earth to make it happen, because she cared.

They were going to have a daughter.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Solaufein's visits to his priestess became almost constant. Myrineyl was still amusing herself with the task of finding more toys for when she broke him, so there was nothing stopping him from becoming a more constant companion to his priestess. He delighted the moment he first felt his daughter move a little under his hand. Soon she would be kicking and moving around to disturb his priestess during all hours of the night, but for the moment it was just a little butterfly flutter of movement. Every time he felt it beneath his palm, his heart grew a little bit lighter. It was strange to feel so connected to a life that wasn't his priestess's, but wonderful. His thoughts lingered on the idea constantly. He found himself wondering if his daughter would have her mother's grey eyes or his red ones. Would she hold his finger in her tiny hand like he had seen his youngest brother do to a sister who had coldly removed herself from the touch? He promised himself that he would never brush her away. His priestess seemed equally enchanted.

One of the nights he had managed to spend with her, she explained a little bit of how she had grown up as the center of her mother's world. "That's what I want for Nathrae," she confided in him, resting her head on his shoulder. They were laying in her bed with the outside world closed out.

"Then it will be so," he teased her gently. "Because Llolfaen Duskryn gets whatever she wants."

She smiled at him in that satisfied way. "Well, now that we're clear on that..."

He laughed and kissed her at the hollow just beneath her ear, earning a soft noise of approval and a little shiver through her body. Pregnancy had not thrown their love life too much into disarray, but for the moment his priestess was more in a mood to just lay close to him. He would never object to that. If anything, having a daughter on the way had only brought them closer.

If there was a universal truth about life as a drow, however, it was that nothing good could last forever.

The message came not from his priestess, but from Matron Siniira of House Duskryn, her mother's mother. Myrineyl snatched it out of his hands the moment he received it from a messenger. It was not a request for a meeting—it was an announcement that she was coming to see him. "What does the bitch want?" Myrineyl demanded, searching his face for an answer.

Solaufein made certain he looked as confused as he felt. "I don't know," he admitted, worried. He hadn't spoken more than a handful of words to the Matron Mother of House Duskryn in all the time he had known his priestess. "But it is not within my power to turn her away. If you wished, you could likely express to her that she is unwelcome."

"As if she'd listen," Myrineyl said with a laugh, though not one of amusement. To Sol it was not a pleasing sound.

The door to the main hall, where they were having this conversation, opened to reveal a stone-faced Matron Siniira. Sol felt something inside him freeze at the expression on her face. It was anger incarnate, hidden behind a façade of neutrality. Had he done something? "Revered Myrineyl," the Duskryn woman greeted curtly. "I need a word with your consort."

Myrineyl smiled a little. "Has Solaufein done something I should know about?" she said sweetly. "I would be more than willing to take it out of his flesh."

"This is about something that happened, not something that was done," Siniira said. It was a response more cryptic than he would have liked, but he could understand why. "This is a discussion to be had in private. If you would please excuse yourself? It will only be a moment."

"You—" Myrineyl started to say. But she caught herself, remembering that even if Siniira was a former slave, she was still a Matron Mother. "Of course, Matron." The priestess glared daggers at Sol as if this were somehow his fault before stalking out of the hall.

"Matron Mother, I'm sorry, but what is this about?" Solaufein asked unsteadily.

"Llolfaen needs you. Go," Siniira said bluntly. There was no room for real debate in the way she said it.

"Myrineyl—"

Those steel grey eyes focused on him with the weight of consequence behind them. "I will handle Myrineyl. Just go, Solaufein."

It was enough to tell him that something was very wrong. Sol hurried out the door, ignoring Myrineyl's pointed summons. He would pay for that later, but that hardly mattered now. He was needed by his priestess and she would come before the scion of House Baenre every time. At the edge of his consciousness, he heard the Matron speaking sharply with Myrineyl, but soon he was through the door and leaving the House further and further behind him with every step. The beauty of Menzoberranzan was lost on him as he made his way through the maze-like streets. Dread was growing behind his breastbone every moment he was moving. What could have gone so badly that the Matron Mother herself came and found him? He knew that House Duskryn was in large part a much closer knit family than his own had ever been, or at least that was true of his priestess, her mother, and the Matron.

He slipped in through the hidden door and made his way past the defenses of the House, standing inactive but still likely aware of his approach. His pace had turned into a run, though he forced himself to slow down so he wouldn't draw attention to himself as he moved through the halls. The door to his priestess's chambers was unlocked, so he let himself in. It was deathly quiet inside. He moved through the living area to her bedroom. He could see her there, lying on her side facing the window to outside. She was breathing a little bit unsteadily, so he knew she was awake. There was the faintest smell of copper in the air, a subtle hint that all was not well. Had she been at the temple? There was no hint of incense on her. He sank down on the bed behind her and reached out to put his hand in its now familiar place on her abdomen. Immediately, he felt the difference. The curve was barely there now.

Sol knew without having to ask what had happened. His priestess had miscarried. Their daughter was...gone.

His heart dropped through an abyss that had opened in the center of his chest. He laid down on the bed and pulled her tightly into his body for the comfort of both of them. She shifted to face him, her fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt as she hid her face in his shoulder. He struggled to breathe around the painful knot that had formed in his throat, but he knew he had to say something even though there were no words that could even temporarily soothe the grief that they both felt. "It's not your fault," he told his priestess thickly, feeling an unfamiliar prickling at his eyes.

She did not answer him even though he knew she had heard him with a perfect clarity. He knew she wouldn't believe that for a very long time. There was no way she would feel anything but responsible. His priestess was anything but unfeeling and she had been so unbelievably, deliriously happy at the idea of being a mother. To have it end like this...

The tears never came for either of them. Instead, they just held onto each other in the quiet of the night for hours. Nothing in the world could have moved him. He stroked her back as much for his comfort as for hers and closed his eyes, trying to think about anything other than what they had lost. His thoughts could never shake it, however. There was a jarring, painful absence where his child should have been and he felt it keenly. The natural response would have been to pull away. Any other male drow hurt in such a way probably would have. But Solaufein stayed. He refused to allow this to force them apart.

She was his priestess and she would forever be the mother of his child, no matter what happened. He cared for her with every fiber of his being and he knew that she needed him now more than she ever had. He needed her in the midst of the wrenching feeling in the center of his chest that had left him with jagged splinters where his heart should have been.

They had been so close to the wonderful. The fall from that dizzying height was like no pain he had ever believed possible. The priestesses of Lloth would have given up their powers just to get their hands on a torture even half as agonizing.

"Faen," he tried again softly.

"I know," she whispered. He knew that she felt the loss as acutely as he did, if not moreso. The life had been inside of her, tied to her own vitality. She had been the one to share those fluttering movements with him, wearing that secret smile all the while. He was not certain if he would ever see it again. The fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt tightened in their grip. "I know."

Sol found himself examining his own actions for an explanation. If he had been there...or perhaps if he had been a better servant of Lloth, she would not have taken their child. His jaw tensed. Perhaps it was just cruelty on the part of the Spider Queen. The anger came to him easily. It was a more natural response than simply allowing himself to feel pain. He wanted to get up and punch a wall, but he couldn't abandon his priestess.

The world around him became hazy as his eyes burned with tears he couldn't understand or shed.

The second time, it was a boy. Two years later, but the story ended the same. His priestess was devastated. He felt it too, the cold and bleakness of some surface midwinter consuming the center of his chest. He held her in his arms and tried to be of whatever small comfort he could as they searched their souls for an answer. It became something that they tried not to think about. His priestess never spoke about it, but he had known her long enough that he could read her eyes.

Myrineyl pulled him away often and every day away was like a knife to his heart because he knew it left his priestess grieving alone. Time would fade the scars, but they would be deep, deep wounds to heal. Revered Lirayne had offered a possible explanation when pressed, though reluctantly. "Our family has an abyssal taint," she explained vaguely, though he saw recognition flicker to life in his priestess's eyes. "Sometimes such things cause problems. There is nothing that you could have done."

He was not certain if that was supposed to be comforting or not. It did not make him feel better to be powerless. His temper became a fearsome thing, fueled by the pain. Dhauntar feared him as many others did, and Myrineyl's admiration only grew. Having him as a consort no longer seemed to be a mistake to her. It only made the anger burn hotter. It was natural for her to approve of his ferocity, but he found no joy in that approval. She did not know his reason, not that she would have cared.

It was ten years, not so long in the lifespan of a drow, before he found himself standing in her room again, looking at those grey eyes that shimmered with poorly hidden fear. "Sol," she said very quietly. "I'm pregnant." It was not exactly the joyful realization that it had been the first time. They were both already steeling themselves for the loss. It was too hard to hope.

"It will be different this time," he promised, stepping in and curling his arms around her. She rested her face against his shoulder and sighed very quietly. He knew she was doubtful. He was too, though he would never say that. He had to believe it would end differently.

"We'll see," his priestess said softly.

He kissed her gently, trying to be reassuring. "I'll be right here," he said.

"I can't do this again," she whispered to him.

"You can. We'll do this together," Sol said. He meant it and that seemed to bring her comfort.

"What would I do without you?" his priestess said, looking up at him with the faintest hint of a smile despite the gravity of the circumstances.

This time, the curve of her stomach continued to grow. They made it longer and longer, until the fear began to slowly ease. Solaufein laid with her again and felt the flutter under his palm slowly become a true kick. Whatever had gone wrong the first and second times did not happen again as they approached birth. Every night he was free, he spent with her. Myrineyl's demands bothered him less and he obeyed with the mechanical nature of a male drow obligated to serve. His heart and his thoughts lingered with his priestess and their child. Eventually they were even ready to consider picking a name and divining gender. Another girl.

"I liked Jyslin," he murmured sleepily into her hair, settled behind her in bed. Her warm skin against his was soothing and relaxed all the muscles that had been wound tightly in his body since his latest encounter with Myrineyl. "It's a good name." Cocooned in the blankets with one hand over the stirring baby, he felt very much at peace.

There was a kick under his hand and his priestess winced. "She's getting strong," she said ruefully.

Sol smiled. He was grateful for every kick. It was a sign that things were going right for the first time. "Good," he murmured, earning a smile from his priestess. She shifted to press a little closer to him. They fit well together like this. For the moment, he was perfectly content and very comfortable. "Name?"

"Jyslin it is," she said with a content sigh when he lifted himself up with one arm and kissed her temple. Sol drifted off to sleep then with a soft mumbling sound.

Another month passed without incident, and then he came the closest to a heart attack he had ever been. They were together when all of a sudden, his priestess doubled over and brought her hands to her belly. He felt the world drop out from underneath him. He was terrified that it had happened again. "Faen—"

"Matron and my mother, now," she said, hurrying that way. Then he realized what was going on: she was about to go into labor. He wasn't certain whether to be relieved or not. Birth could be just as dangerous, for both her and the baby, and it was coming early. He knew that Siniira and Lirayne would do their absolute best, but that was no guarantee and certainty was what he needed at that moment.

They got her to a bed in time and with two powerful clerics in the room, he felt much better about their chances. It was not, however, an easy thing. The baby had decided to try a breech birth rather than coming the right way despite Lirayne's best efforts to turn her around. There were no screams from his priestess, but her breathing was ragged and he could see agony in written plainly across her face. "Nothing you do is ever the easy way, Faen," the Matron muttered, tension in her jaw speaking of her own worry. Sol had to stand there helplessly. It went on for hours.

At the end, his priestess lay still and quiet, but the most beautiful sound in the world reached both of them. His daughter was alive and crying as Lirayne wrapped her up. "Here, Sol," the cleric said, holding out the infant. "Take her to Faen. We'll leave you three alone for a while."

He gently accepted a tiny, fragile little creature who looked up at him with silver eyes. She quieted, gazing at him solemnly. When he brushed a finger across her delicate palm, her hand immediately closed around it and he felt that surging warmth through his whole body. He sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled at his priestess as she settled back into the pillows and reached out to stroke their daughter's downy hair. Jyslin was small enough that he could hold her with one arm, her head supported by his hand and her body laying along his forearm. "She has your eyes," he commented, pleased with that fact.

"She kicks harder than her father hits," his priestess teased him even as she played with the baby's hands for a few minutes before Jyslin was ready to sleep.

Solaufein's chest puffed out a little with pride. _Her father_. He was a father. Nothing would ever be as special to him as his daughter and his priestess.


End file.
